Casablanca Sucked Anyways
by Seph Meadowes
Summary: Edward remembers the time he stole a kiss from a young witch. Edward/Hermione. Complete.


_A man had given all other bliss,  
And all his worldly worth for this,  
To waste his whole heart in one kiss  
Upon her perfect lips._  
**- Alfred, Lord Tennyson**

He surmises that his sire has gone absolutely insane if he thinks it'd be a good idea for them to go to a party where people, not only wizards but young ones with blood that just smells far too enticing that it was practically torture to sit in his seat while they all consumed more alcohol and all he can focus on is the venom pooling in his mouth and the fun little fantasies of digging his teeth into the flesh of their necks and swallowing mouthfuls of the delicious liquid running underneath.

Of course, he has centuries of self control when it came to suppressing the thirst now but if he _does _get to act on his Bela Lugosi fantasies, he would _definitely _start with Slughorn.

He dislikes the pompous old wizard from the first moment he laid eyes on the obese man. He doesn't know how many eye rolls he had to suppress when the man kept going on and on about the achievements of his past students simply because he has none of his own.

Such a man inspires nothing but disgust in him. Then again, maybe he wouldn't drink from the old coot, Christ only knows where that blood has been and what's in it. He doesn't want to imagine.

He endures the torture and boredom for another minute or two before he gets up and starts wondering outside the large room, admiring the aged stone walls of the castle and the large glass windows. The place was like a blast to the past, like the old medieval films he watches with Carlisle sometimes during the nights he isn't playing piano or busying himself with reading.

His bionic hearing picks up on a feminine voice muttering curse words under his breath and following it he happens upon a girl – young woman, no more than seventeen and glaring at the mistletoe above her head like it was the devil himself.

"Anything the matter?" He asks her and she looks at him in surprise for a moment before huffing in her annoyance.

"Enchanted mistletoe," She answers as if that explains everything. "I can't move until…" A light blush creeps up on her cheeks and the action makes him think of the sweet young blood under her skin. "…until someone kisses me."

He nods in understanding and takes the moment to stare at the young witch's face. Her face would be considered plain by most but there's something about her with the way she holds herself and the fire in her eyes that made her stand out from the most. She had the smoothest skin, flushed from her annoyance, and a long elegant neck he couldn't stop glancing at.

She shuffles on her feet nervously as he observes her, her small delicate hand reaching up to her neck worriedly as she remembers what he is.

"It's alright." He tries to appease her and steps forward. But instead of cowering back, she raises her chin and holds her head high in misguided bravery. He would laugh if he didn't know it would offend her. "I can help you."

He reads her thoughts and listens to her contemplate on his sincerity and intentions. She has an intriguing mind, constantly changing from one topic to another in an academic away that relied on logic and common sense. Her pattern of thinking was rather unique and he quite likes it.

He's a foot away from her when he feels the spell activating, gluing his feet to the floor. "Do you want my help?" He asks slowly, looking into the brown eyes that are almost hypnotic in the castle's lighting.

She swallows and it attracts his attention to her lovely ivory neck again before he swoops down and touches her lips with his own. She's stiff for a moment before sighing and responding to the kiss.

Her lips are soft and warm and it's a bizarre feeling as he's entire body is swallowed in a bubble of warmth. He feels…_human _and he knows it's impossible but maybe it's the magic in her veins that's making him feel like this. His hand goes to the back of her head, tangling in those thick brown curls and he deepens the kiss, plundering the heat of her mouth with his tongue. And _God_, if witches feel like this, he never wants to let her go.

The kiss goes on for what feels like an eternity before he remembers that she needs to breath and he ends it, opening his eyes to the all too tempting image of her flushed cheeks and dazed eyes.

When the ability to think finally returns to her, she shakes herself out of her stupor and steps away from him. "I-I should go." And she's running off down the halls of the castle, her thoughts a myriad of emotions mostly confusion and desire.

She's already too far away when he realizes he never learned her name.

* * *

**Oh well, it's Christmas. Time for the Christmas-themed fics.**


End file.
